


Avec juste une ou deux baisers que je chope à l’envolée

by voices_in_my_head



Category: The Predator (2018)
Genre: AU where Nebraska doesn't die, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, and I guess you can pretend the others didn't die either though they don't show up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 14:24:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18896422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voices_in_my_head/pseuds/voices_in_my_head
Summary: "Quinn enters the living room, ready to ask what they’re listening to but then he sees Nebraska and just stops. He’s sitting on the window sill, one knee up, one foot down, moving to the music’s rhythm, eyes closed, head thrown back against the window and every few seconds he’ll take a drag from his cigarette."





	Avec juste une ou deux baisers que je chope à l’envolée

**Author's Note:**

> I was very upset that there's almost no content for this pair - how?? - so I wrote this little thing. Hope you enjoy :)

The sun is shining through the blinds when Quinn wakes up. Nebraska likes to sleep with them fully open while Quinn would much prefer full darkness; he likes not having any idea what time it is when he wakes up, so they came to an understanding and now the blinds go almost halfway down. Enough sun for Nebraska to be comfortable, not so much light to completely ruin Quinn’s mood in the morning.

It’s not unusual for him to wake up alone, though he doesn’t particularly enjoy it. Still, Nebraska, despite being a pretty chill guy, doesn’t much like laying around doing absolutely nothing, and in his own words “it’s creepy if I just look at you sleeping, man” which is fair enough, though Quinn is never telling him that he and Emily did it all the time to Rory as a baby.

Quinn gets up slowly. The Army doesn’t really know what to do with him right now. They’re not planning on using him as a scapegoat anymore, but he isn’t willing to just go back into normal service like nothing went down. And Nebraska… well, Nebraska’s been discharged. He’s thinking of going back to construction but hasn’t decided yet.

After a shower, Quinn leaves the bedroom to go to the kitchen. Outside, he can immediately hear the soft music Nebraska has on. Quinn stops to try and understand what he’s listening to. He’s pretty sure he’s never met anyone with a taste like Nebraska’s. One day he’s listening to Pakistani music – “I heard it in this film and now it’s stuck in my head” – the next day it’s Hans Zimmer – “don’t talk shit about that man.”

It takes a few minutes but Quinn finally recognizes the words as French. Though what the hell they mean, he couldn’t have less of an idea. He took it in high school but in the way everyone did it – because you had to. He doesn’t remember anything more than “hello” “how are you” and for some strange reason, “I’ll take out the trash”.

Quinn enters the living room, ready to ask what they’re listening to but then he sees Nebraska and just stops. He’s sitting on the window sill, one knee up, one foot down, moving to the music’s rhythm, eyes closed, head thrown back against the window and every few seconds he’ll take a drag from his cigarette. At least he has an ashtray on his lap; Quinn really wasn’t looking forward to having to vacuum ashes from the floor again.

“Now who’s the creepy one?” Nebraska asks in that deep voice of his, and Quinn doesn’t even try to stop the smile that grows on his face. Nebraska opens his eyes, slowly, a bit like a cat, and then smiles too, like he couldn’t resist it either. “Come here,” Nebraska calls, using the hand not holding the cigarette to gesture for Quinn to join him.

It’s not that big of an apartment; in a few steps Quinn is close enough to put his hand on Nebraska’s, who pulls until he’s touching the leg dangling from the window sill.

“Good morning,” Quinn says and bends down to kiss him. It’s not a deep one; he doesn’t enjoy the taste of cigarettes, but that still isn’t enough to stop him from touching Nebraska. Sometimes it feels like it’s more of a subconscious decision than a conscious one.

Nebraska hums against his lips and once Quinn has straightened up, says “good morning to you too.” He puts a hand on Quinn’s hip and moves his fingers around a bit.

“What are we listening to?” Quinn asks.

“Eddy de Pretto,” Nebraska answers and Quinn raises his eyebrows.

“That doesn’t sound like a French name.”

Nebraska hums and takes a drag from his cigarette. He’s a good man to have in tense situations, but day-to-day he’s a lot more relaxed. Sometimes Quinn has to wait several minutes for Nebraska to finish up his thought process.

As a sniper, waiting is something Quinn is intimately familiar with, so he just leans harder on Nebraska’s hand as he waits.

“I thought it was an Italian word. Pretto, you know? Has a musical ring to it. But black in Italian is nero and the Spanish use negro. It’s Portuguese.”

“You know Portuguese?” Quinn asks, even though he’s pretty sure of the answer.

Nebraska smiles up at him, “nah, just found it interesting, that’s all.”

“You should tell Rory that,” Quinn tells him and Nebraska laughs.

“He probably already knows. And if not, by next week he’ll learn how to say black in like twenty different languages.”

Quinn shrugs, “nothing wrong with that.”

Nebraska takes another drag of his cigarette – Queen doesn’t know how he doesn’t have any ashes on his shirt – and then says, “yeah, nothing wrong with that.”

They’re silent after that.

“You could do it too, you know,” Quinn says to break the silence. It wasn’t awkward but he isn’t used to silence around him. By himself, sure, he’s spent way too long alone in the woods – or desert – with just a gun and his own thoughts as company not to get used to it – but with other people? His squad was always talking shit and Emily likes talking too, though by the end they argued more than anything else.

“Do what?” Nebraska asks and it’s obvious he’s just going along it for Quinn’s sake.

“Learn a language. Then you could understand at least some of the music you listen to.”

“Nah, man. Not understanding it… that’s the magic. Maybe this dude is singing about drugs. Maybe it’s about his parents. This way, the song is what I make it, not what he wants it to be.”

Quinn stops to think about that. He’s never been big on remaining ignorant but he can see the appeal.

“You eat yet?” Quinn asks as Nebraska finally finishes off the cigarette. He twitches his fingers, like he’s already craving another, but he stops himself from getting it. If Quinn got his way, Nebraska would never touch another in his life, but like with everything else, a balance had to be found and Nebraska has almost dropped down to half of the cigarettes he was smoking when they first met, so Quinn is taking that victory.

“Nah. I was waiting for you,” Nebraska says.

“You wanna cook or go out? Maybe we could find a French restaurant that serves breakfast. To go with the music,” Quinn offers.

“We could just go to France.”

“Yeah?” Quinn asks, eyebrows raised. He can’t even remember the last time he left the country for something other than work. Their funds aren’t exactly overflowing but if Nebraska wants it, then they could make it work.

“Breakfast first, though,” Nebraska says and puts the ashtray on the still. Then he gets up. “I’ll make pancakes,” he says and kisses Quinn on the cheek.

Quinn watches him go to the kitchen and wonders if Nebraska was serious about going to France, or if it was just one of those random things he sometimes says. He’s willing to go with the flow either way.

 


End file.
